


If a walk could change my life

by Motteke_Star



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, One Shot, Poet England, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Suicide, Therapy, Writer England, suicidal japan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27443863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Motteke_Star/pseuds/Motteke_Star
Summary: Arthur is a self-hating poet who decides to go for a walk to clear his mind. What happens after that is something he never would have anticipated.Oneshot, EngPan, Check tags.
Relationships: England & Japan (Hetalia), England/Japan (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	If a walk could change my life

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in an hour at 1AM, it wasn't really planned but I was feeling edgy and decided to write this. I don't even know how this idea sprang to mind I just started writing. Hope you enjoy.

Arthur had never, not once, in his whole life been proud of himself. He would gloat, of course, to inflate his ego and convince his conscience that he wasn’t so bad- that he wasn’t a monster like he thought he was, and that he was just poor innocent Arthur, struggling from low self-esteem and some issues. And he knew he could eventually get over those issues. He was sure of it.

But he was a monster on the cold nights, when the covers over his head couldn’t block out what was already inside, and he realises he has already experienced thirty years of life without ever using his potential to the fullest. 

The human brain was meant to be pushed to the limits, for a muscle cannot grow back without first being torn, yet here Arthur was, an unworked brain that still felt broken- and perhaps, if his brain has never grown, does that mean he is still a child?  
But no. That couldn’t be right. If he was a child, that meant he was the victim, but he was a monster- but no, how could he be a monster? He was just Arthur, just plain, normal, broken-

He heaved a long sigh, his lips trembled with an emotion he didn’t know he could still possess. He leaves his cave of a bed and ventures across the carpet to his wardrobe. Fancy attire isn’t needed for where he’s going, neither is good hair or a smile.

He fumbles for his keys as his eyes adjust to the foreign light and slips on his shoes. Brogues. 

He shakes his head. His body aches too much for him to bend down and tie his laces, and the tremble of his lips has spread across him like a fever. He slips on his loafers and enters the street.

Arthur is a poet, a writer who publishes his thoughts and profits off of them, simple as. He tries to convince himself that this walk of his is good, that it’ll provide him with inspiration and it’ll better his livelihood- but deep down he knows it’s not true. First of all, he doesn’t care for his livelihood, and second of all, he’s doing this to feel something, not to think of something.

But it’s all in vain, and he knows it. The adrenaline of being alone at night stopped appearing many years ago, since he realised that every time he went out he always comes back home alive. And so there’s nothing really to feel. 

His feet slap against the pavement and Arthur can’t decide his pace. Is this a gentle stroll or a brisk walk? 

Ugh, there he goes overthinking things again. It’s ironic, really, that he gets paid to overthink and mope, and so he keeps doing it because it benefits him financially. But it really doesn’t benefit him in any other way now, does it? Because he can mope for pages and pages on end but it never really DOES anything.  
He pays no mind to his surroundings because they’re always the same, until he reaches a bridge and his pace slows because it’s uphill.  
It’s a small inconvenience, but with his current state of mind it makes him want to cry. Should he cry? Not over a bridge, that would be silly.  
But he cries anyways, because it’s not about the bridge. 

He looks down, falling from this height into the water would surely kill a man.

Speaking of which, he looks up, to try calm his tears, and instead of the pale moonlight he sees a man, which is quite the let-down because Arthur was beginning to feel sentimental and he thought looking up at the moon wistfully is something poets were supposed to do.

The man’s hair is black, and so are his eyes. The moon is white and so Arthur decides this must mean something, because juxtaposition never lies and poets always know what matters (that was sarcasm, they never actually do).

The man is stood on the railing over the bridge, and he sort of looks like he’s praying, but his eyes are open and he’s still. He’s almost statue like, the way he’s unmoving despite the breeze and his face shows no emotion. In fact, it’s because of his face that Arthur starts to sweat, because he can’t figure out his emotion and therefore can’t figure out his intentions.

Are his intentions to jump off and die? Or is he simply seeking adrenaline like Arthur is? Either way, Arthur doesn’t like it.

Arthur decides to stand up and confront him. Not because he’s kind, but because he’s selfish. If the man dies, he’ll have to think about death for days- it’ll haunt his dreams and his existentialism will torture him even more than his self-hatred already does, and he’s barely clinging on to his sanity at this point. Arthur doesn’t have anything to live for, but he knows he doesn’t like overthinking things so he knows this man shouldn’t die, and with the way he doesn’t seem to be coming down from the railing any time soon, Arthur decides to take his sweaty palms as a sign.

“Don’t do it.” He speaks, though it hardly comes out as a confident statement because of the trembling, and also because Arthur has no idea what he’s going to say next.

The man finally moves, and Arthur is glad he’s not a statue.

“Why?” The man replies, bluntly, as if he’s not even worried that his life might end, and that he’ll no longer exist after this.

Arthur is silent for a bit. He’s worried now, because he doesn’t know this man, and if he’s suicidal he’s probably heard every half-hearted reason in the book, meaning there’s nothing Arthur can really do to stop him. He’s running out of time now, because if he takes too long the man might do it, and so, it’s the stress that drives him to tell the truth, which is a very rare thing for Arthur to do because he’s so used to lying.

“I’d blame myself even though I don’t know you, and I don’t like feeling bad, in fact, I don’t think any human likes to blame themselves, so could you please come down?” Arthur pleads.

The man simply looks at him. The way he’s being looked at reminds Arthur of his youth, because just like in youth, he feels like he just made a big mistake, but nothing is being expected of him. The man’s eyes are so unbiased, unwavering, uncaring and unwanting, he’s just looking at Arthur as if he’s a harmless child that could do no wrong.

But even though the man expects nothing, Arthur still feels like he needs to talk to break the silence, and so he keeps going.

“I’ll listen to your problems if you want. You probably hate me because of what I just said, but I could make it up to you for now and listen to you if you’d like. It won’t solve anything but it’ll give you something to do.”

The man nods, and jumps down onto the bridge. Arthur is elated.

“You don’t have to do that. There’s not much reason I want to die, I’m just tired of not feeling anymore.” The man informs him, casually talking about his existence as if he’s pointing out a change in the weather.

And whilst the man is casual, Arthur feels like he’s been shot in the chest, because he relates to those words. They’re scathing, but they’re true and he can’t deny it for once. For once, he can’t fill his head with pretty little lies, because Arthur set out of his house that night to feel something, and now he feels like a monster because he’s just compared himself to a suicidal man, and instead of feeling compassionate, he feels like he’s going to throw up.

But then he remembers that what they feel is not the same. Even right now, Arthur feels like a monster, he feels cold for a reason other than the breeze, it’s nothing like what the other person is going through. Arthur shudders at the thought of not even being able to feel that, because then he REALLY wouldn’t be human and that’s the only thing he has left.

Arthur wonders if there’s anything he can say to help the man feel something- but realises quite quickly that this man probably wouldn’t so much as flinch at a word he said, and so he decides maybe an action will work.

You see, what happens next in this story is a result of two reasons. The first reason being that Arthur hates himself and loves to have reasons to despise himself even more, and the second being that Arthur knows this man is suicidal, and therefore probably doesn’t care what happens to him.

And so, Arthur reaches out and kisses the man.

It’s peculiar, both their eyes are open and romance is nowhere in the picture. It’s more like a casual compliment than a display of affection, and the only one who even tries to make the kiss work is Arthur. 

Once he feels he’s made a point, he moves away to catch the man’s reaction, and he’s delighted by what he sees.  
The man’s emotion has changed. He looks flabbergasted, his mouth is wide open and his chest is rising and falling at a rapid pace, it’s obvious how much he’s panicking and Arthur loves it. Arthur’s a monster. He knew it all along and this just proves it. Finally someone other than himself hates him, finally he can have a reason-

The man’s crying, but he has a crooked smile on his face, as he grasps the fabric over his chest and squeezes so hard it’s as if he’s having a heart attack. He’s panting and crying, but through shakes his face has forced a smile.

Arthur wonders if his brain really is broken, because he cannot believe what he’s seeing.

“I feel so scared.” The man states, but he didn’t need to because Arthur can clearly see that.

“You’re a stranger and you kissed me, and you might do even worse things, but I’m grateful.” The man just about cries out, and with this, Arthur is so angered that he takes off and runs all the way home.

He doesn’t care if he scuffs his loafers, and this time running home he cares even less about his surroundings to the point where reality feels like a blur until he arrives and the lights are blinding him again.

He sits on the stairs to gather his thoughts. It takes a while- Arthur is an overthinker by nature and he hates himself, so it takes until morning for him to decipher what is propaganda his brain is making up and what is real.

What he decides, is that the man back there has given him a reason to not feel like a monster, which makes Arthur feel even worse because he wants to be proven right for once. And because this man has made him feel worse, Arthur feels his stomach start to tingle and his heart begins to warm, because finally someone has showed up to torture him the way he deserves to be tortured.

And like a fool, he falls in love.

______________________________________________________________________

From then on he goes back to that bridge every night and hopes to see the man, and every night his love grows stronger for him, because every time he doesn’t get to see him it’s like torture, and he loves to be tortured.

When he sees the man again a month later he can’t hold in his excitement. He bombards the man with questions, and since the man doesn’t care what happens to him, he replies.

His name is Kiku Honda, he’s 33 and he isn’t so sure if he wants to die now, because he felt something just a month ago on this very bridge and it’s kept him going since then. Arthur invites Kiku over to his house and he accepts, and they sit in the living room and talk.

It’s not awkward at all, because they both know nothing will come out of this. Arthur opens up for the first time, as he’s been hiding his true feelings from people since he was a child- but now that someone doesn’t want to get to know him at all, he’s so compelled to tell him he’s barely able to mask his infatuation.

At some point, Kiku decides to kiss Arthur again and Arthur melts.

After so much torture he’s being rewarded, and it actually feels good, and he starts to think that maybe he isn’t a monster, maybe he can love and BE loved and maybe he can finally live-

But he’s wrong again. Kiku realises that kissing Arthur no longer brings him adrenaline, because they are no longer strangers, and leaves his house.  
Arthur falls to his knees and feels ecstasy and misery at the same time.

______________________________________________________________________

After that, Arthur decides to go to therapy. 

He wanted to put it in a more poetic way, but he’s realised he needs to stop trying to make everything so tragic and look at them for what they actually are. 

Although Kiku used him, he’s also helped Arthur realise that opening up can actually feel good, and so he does just that in a professional context. He gets diagnosed with something he sort of already knew he had but was too afraid to admit, and things start to get better.

For a while, he hates it. He hates that things are better because he hates himself. But then he slowly realises that he’s human. Not a monster, not a victim, not any label. Just Arthur. And when he feels better, he notices the letters people have sent him complimenting his poems have been on his desk unopened all that time. He notices the way the buildings down his street look so nice in the light, and the fact that when they cast shadows it subdues the colours of flowers in front gardens and makes Arthur want to pick up a pen. He admires the way his brogues hug his feet and feel nice as he saunters down the road.

Slowly, he notices the bridge less and less too.

After a year, Arthur feels his progress is working. His demons will never be gone, he knows this, but he still allows himself to have hope despite the nagging fears.

And so, when he sees Kiku again on that bridge, in the warm light of the setting sun, he realises that this time Kiku is leaning against the railing, using it for support, and that he’s the one who feels calm this time.

Even better yet, when he can walk up the bridge without producing a single tear, he feels like a hero.

Not the Monster, not the victim, but the Hero.

And when Kiku’s face flashes with worry when he sees him, and he starts frantically apologising for his actions, Arthur notices how animated he looks and wonders how he ever compared this man to a statue before.

“That’s the first time anyone had been honest to me about that sort of thing,” Kiku explains, and his dark hair against the sky reminds Arthur of ink on a page, and his furrowed brows against the calm glide of the clouds makes Arthur want to listen to him for hours.

And so, Arthur the poet and Kiku the human go back to Arthur’s house and talk, and this time it’s awkward and weird because they have nothing to talk about and barely anything in common, but Arthur feels warmer than he’s ever felt in his life, and Kiku feels so strongly he thinks his chest might burst.


End file.
